What One Must Do
by Chaotic Chorus
Summary: Snape is faced with a daunting and inevitable path that will save lives or destroy his own.
1. Chapter 1

_**Note:**__ As this is my first attempt at posting any sort of fan fiction writing, I cannot guarantee perfection. I would appreciate any input you lovely readers may have and look forward to adding more to this story and watching how it unfolds._

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"Headmaster, surely you cannot be serious."

The incredulity shining through Severus Snape's eyes was likely to spark a fire on Dumbledore's wooden desk. Never one to allow himself to be caught off guard, Snape found himself in the peculiar position of being grandly flummoxed.

"This is not what we previously discussed," he fumed.

"Severus, I know you are no longer in the habit of indulging me, but I ask that you at least explore the possibility that I am making a great deal of sense."

Dumbledore's knack for remaining sagely calm grated against Snape's nerves like a wailing banshee. Though it occasionally took time, he often grudgingly agreed with the older wizard's plans. But this…

"Headmas- …Albus. Do you know what you are condemning me to? Countless times have I gone to the Dark Lord and played his grueling game. I have lost track of the innumerable atrocities I have committed to convince him of my loyalty, all in the name of winning this war. I have watched the wizarding empire burn from the inside out, sidelining myself in an effort to remain hidden. Your death was the final turning point!" Snape raked his fingers over his left arm, the disgusting black smear on his soul itching at his sanity. "I have forged a trust out of death and decay, and now you'd have me turn my back on it all to save one life versus thousands?"

Dumbledore's portrait seemed to darken with the gravity of his next words. "Severus, I have, almost literally in some instances, thrown you to the wolves on many occasions. I have asked things of you that I would never dream of expecting from any other individual. But you must see how vitally important the whole picture is. We are not merely speaking of one life versus thousands. The power to win this war lies with one boy—well, I suppose I should call him a man, really—and his power cannot be fully tapped if he doesn't have the right counsel. He holds the key, but he needs those who would ever so slightly guide his hand."

The office entered a silence so harsh that it pounded against Snape's eardrums. He gazed wretchedly at the wall of deceased witches and wizards who had led Hogwarts across the ages. He wondered if his tenure as Headmaster would allow his inclusion into the ranks of the immortal elite. Considering his entire record, he thought not.

The stillness was interrupted by a springing toll. One of the many instruments left over from Dumbledore's stay in the Headmaster's office indicated that the hour was now two. The full moon shown through the windows, casting a stony pale over Snape's immaculate robes. He spared a passing thought for Lupin, wondering where he would be holed up this time. Ever since the child had arrived, he'd been taking great care to isolate himself from both it and his wife at such dangerous times. The man had been almost disgracefully gleeful as of late. Whenever they dared communicate, he couldn't help but wonder what it must be like to—

Snape's mind crashed back to his surroundings, taking note of the many eyes on his face. _Anything to avoid the current predicament. God, I've become soft._

He turned slowly and began pacing the length of the room, his hands clasped rigidly at his back. "If I am to do this," he began heavily, "there must be a contingency plan in place before I depart."

"Naturally," Dumbledore agreed. "I believe I may already have that sorted out."

"Do you, now?" Snape sneered half-heartedly. He was starting to realize, as was often the case, that Dumbledore was unfortunately and unerringly correct. He hated putting his faith in Potter, abhorred the thought of his victor's pomp, but if the prophecy was to be believed, the arrogant boy was the only one who could truly best the Dark Lord. And God only knows that he needed whatever help those more intelligent could give him.

"Yes, I do." Up until now, Dumbledore had spoken gently, easing Snape into his new role. But his voice had hardened, growing thick as the school's foundations. "Severus, it must be done."

Snape's shoulders dropped, any pretense of control slipping away with the disappearing minutes. "Soon," Dumbledore pushed. "If we wait too long, the window will vanish and hope with it."

Whirling in rage, Snape roared his frustration. "There is no 'we' anymore, Albus! It has been only me for a long while now! Forgive me if I am not immediately ready to throw my life into the void!" The portraits on the walls exploded in a fury of startled movement, each former headmaster reeling from his shouts. Snape didn't care. None of them would ever fully grasp the life Dumbledore had locked him into. The fortress of his mind was wearing thin, each carefully placed brick crumbling, the mortar dissolving under the tsunami of pressure that had been laid against it throughout the last decade.

Snape's tirade was short-lived, and he collapsed against a cabinet, disrupting several objects that tinkled in protest at being dislodged. As much as he hated the gaily whirring machines, he couldn't bear the thought of removing them. To do so would mean closing himself off even further from that which had saved him. He had been an idiot man-child when the Dark Lord first took power. Following him had seemed so logical after a lifetime of never-ending rejections and torpor. Finally, here had been a man willing to fight a broken system that was nearly ready to topple itself. Only Snape hadn't truly embraced evil. He witnessed what became of it, what it meant to give oneself over and shred all vestiges of humanity. Lily's lifeless eyes still haunted his hours, waking or sleeping. His covered his face with his slender hands, peering out between fingers stained with innocent blood.

"I swore to do anything for you, Dumbledore. I am not so foolish as to neglect that vow after all this time."

Dumbledore watched Snape's defeated face over his spectacles. "There is more."

Snape's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. "What else could you possibly have to say that would warrant such an ominous proclamation?"

"I doubt you'll agree with the method I've considered for Miss Granger's retrieval."

"I honestly can't imagine anything worse than revealing myself to the Dark Lord, but go on."

Dumbledore grimaced. "If I've gauged Voldemort correctly—and I have spent much of my life and death presuming to do so—then I may have discovered a way to avoid suspicion in this venture."

The old wizard was mad. He had to be. Snape stared mutely into the flat but bottomless eyes etched onto the canvas. "There can be no charade this time. I see no way to come out alive or with my reputation intact. If Miss Granger is to be rescued and I am the one to do it, then I will be thereafter hunted until the ground has consumed my bones."

After a slight pause, Dumbledore began to speak quietly, detailing his plan in annoyingly calm tones that failed to betray the absolute horror they conveyed.

When he ceased, Snape stood motionless for a moment.

Then he overturned the cabinet, shattering glass and machine into oblivion.


	2. Chapter 2

**Note: **_I am already taken aback by the immediate response. Thank you to those who have already reviewed what little I've posted! I do feel the need to warn you, though: this story will undoubtedly get graphic. I haven't decided the direction I'll take it in, but I have a general idea. Again, thank you, and I hope you're at least intrigued by what you've read so far!_

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Snape smashed every last thing he could get his hands on. Ripped parchment and upset inkwells littered the floor in his wake as he sent furniture flying in his haste to exit the room. He crashed his way down the school corridors, knowing he might only come across a belligerent Filch patrolling and skulking in dank corners. He honestly did not care who took notice of his foul rampage as many had been witness to his furies both silent and screaming. As of late, he had tried to remain reserved, refusing to showcase any instance in which he appeared out of control. This night, however, would be shown no mercy. His usually stoically preserved mind was in tatters, a ruined flag on a battlefield, listlessly fluttering amid destruction.

_How can that blasted man expect this, of all things! It is not my fault the stupid girl was captured. She and those ignorant boys have been in over their heads for the past six years. I cannot protect every obstinate child who—_

Snape slowed to a stop near a vast and gaudy tapestry. It took him a minute to realize he had traversed his way through several floors without taking notice of where it led him. Recognizing the tapestry, he swept it aside and stepped into the black hallway beyond. Sinking to the dirt-crusted floor, he gathered his robes about himself and began to shake, years of repressed emotion electrifying his body. Every nerve was an exposed wire, frying his skin to a feverish blaze.

What the hell had happened? Snape drew a ragged breath, hating every crawling thing on the earth. In that moment he doubted his composure, knowing anyone who happened upon him would be unquestionably Stupefied.

Becoming a spy for the Order had transformed him from a piteous lackey to an essential chess piece. He could stomach the subterfuge, the current hatred from his colleagues who didn't know the whole picture, even the condemning glares from every student who still had the misfortune of attending this bloody school. In the black hole of his heart, he knew he craved acceptance and understanding, but it wasn't a necessity. He could still thrive. Severus Snape was not to be underestimated.

"Damn it all," Snape muttered, slumping back and releasing his tension. His veins still cried out as if they were being incinerated, but he no longer had the energy to do more than lie unmoving against the cold stone. His face felt wet and with shame he realized he'd let a spare tear leak from his eye to his chin. Though he was invisible in the pitch darkness, his pride could not suffer such weakness.

Brusquely wiping any semblance of emotion from his cheek, he raised himself to his feet, balancing through sheer willpower. _I will not be undone. I will not be bested._

Settling once again into the dark regions of his mind, he strode purposefully from his hiding place.

He retraced his steps and ground his heels into the stone steps up to what was now his office. Without glancing at the numerous steely eyes that followed his movements, he marched up to small side table and retrieved a crystal tumbler, pouring a generous helping of firewhiskey and downing the lot in one swallow.

"Consider it done, Albus," he whispered. "But if I don't survive…may it haunt you forever."

Dumbledore exhaled profoundly, his ancient wrinkles deepening in sorrow. "Severus, let me assure you that I am already haunted by an infinite number of demons. I pray you are not added to the hoard."

Snape awoke in a fiery sweat, his bed sheets strangling each wayward limb that had flailed throughout the restless night. Untangling himself, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and leaned forward, resting his slick arms on his knees. His body ached as if he'd been in a body bind all night, though he knew that to be impossible from his state of disarray. _I was not nearly drunk enough last night. _

Staggering upright, Snape limped forward to a stone basin that sat on a rickety end table under the only window in the room. The tepid water from the bowl felt icy on his heated brow and he let a small river trickle over his scalp and down his neck. Movement in the corner of his eye startled him and he quickly spun to confront the intruder. He stood facing his gaunt reflection, eyes wide and nostrils flaring.

"Godamnit!" he bellowed, staggering back and sending the basin flying in the process. Snape didn't startle easily but he was beginning to unravel. Gripping the table, he bent down to retrieve the broken bits of stone. "Son of a—" He jerked his leg, finally seeing a slight gash across his foot. He stamped over to his desk and snatched up his wand. "_Episkey_," he hissed, flicking the wand at his injury. The wound sealed itself.

_When did I become such a bumbling fool? _He could not remember the last time he had used a verbal spell for something so mediocre. He pointed his wand without looking and muttered a resigned "_Reparo" _before tossing the black stick to the bed. He wandered to the gilded mirror that had previously caused such alarm as the basin pieces clanked together and soared back to the table.

Snape had spent the entirety of his life loathing his appearance. Sallow was an unbecoming pallor on anyone, and he'd known from a young age that his strengths were not without but rather within. Pushing forty, he resembled a man much older. Deep scars from many a curse wildly dotted his naked chest, rambling over his shoulders and down his arms. He shuddered inwardly as his eyes grazed the inky stain on his left forearm. Of all the marks his body had retained, that was one he longed to be rid of.

Regardless of his feelings for his visage, Snape noted that this was very well the last time he may ever see himself. An odd feeling washed over him, as if he'd suddenly grasped that he was in danger of losing his best friend.

'Friend' was not a word Snape particularly liked. People tended to throw it about carelessly as if they were eternally bonded with anyone they'd ever had a pleasant conversation with. Snape had never cultivated a true relationship with anyone but himself since Lil—

_Oh, what good are you doing now! _He hated himself for remembering those emerald eyes at a time like this.

_Focus on what is ahead. Forget the past. It cannot help you._ He closed his eyes and began to structure new barriers around his thoughts, erecting towering walls to keep the Dark Lord at bay while simultaneously scattering useless memories both real and fabricated to placate his false master's probing. He would need to be perfect in this act. Everyone must believe him or there would be no chance in escaping with his life, let alone Granger's. He counted on the girl's fear of him, letting it consume his thoughts in the hope of forming a veritable reaction to it. This could very well break her mind and Potter couldn't afford to lose such a rare commodity. He despised the three amateur heroes but wouldn't deny Dumbledore's claims that she was indispensable. Not that he would admit it, but Snape rather respected Granger, for all her wit. She had emerged into adulthood with the tenacity of a seasoned witch, and if anyone could push Potter in the right direction it was her.

Snape let himself dwell on Granger, images of her flashing beneath his eyelids. He tried to summon…God, he could barely think it.

Dumbledore had been certain of his plan. The Dark Lord gloried in the suffering of others, always urging his followers to take every opportunity to do the same. If Snape expressed interest in the prisoner…

Currently, Granger was nothing more than an amusing toy for the Death Eaters to bat around. Snape was certain she'd never be used as a bargaining chip. She'd already been held captive for a week and he couldn't imagine the Dark Lord continuing under the impression that he could pry any information from her mind. After being separated from the boys, she would have no idea where they would next journey. She wouldn't be able to give away their position even if she had desired to.

Snape opened his eyes, pupils contracting in the sudden light. He had been standing still for nigh on an hour. His mind was properly barricaded. He glanced down and realized that he'd made _quite _the effort at conjuring certain…emotions for the girl. _Well. I suppose that will help._

Without another glance at his weary countenance, he crossed to the wardrobe housing his garments and plucked his finest robes from a hook, shrugging them on and shielding his nakedness from the world. He meticulously buttoned each onyx clasp all the way to his neck until he felt safely guarded from the elements.

His armor in place, Snape pocketed his wand and walked to the door. He wrapped his fingers around the brass knob, stepped through, and shut the door smartly behind him for possibly the last time.


	3. Chapter 3

**_Note: _**_My dear readers, I must apologize for keeping you waiting. A year is an atrociously long absence, and I doubt many of you even recall reading my beginning chapters. However, if you're still out there, I've finally picked up the pen again. Please enjoy the following._

_*I do not own any characters from the Harry Potter universe and attribute all credit to J.K. Rowling*_

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On all accounts, it was a miserable morning. Naturally, the heavens had seen fit to part and release a flood on the landscape, making it almost impossible to step in any direction without sinking down half a foot. One structure broke the rainfall, rising up into the fog like a twisted mountain. The deteriorating building sloped to one side, looking as if a giant had sat on the roof. In all likelihood, that very thing may have happened in the not too distant past. The countryside was otherwise sparse, lacking in civilization. Only the far distant mountains interrupted the horizon.

A flash of light illuminated the windows in the house accompanying a shrill cry of obvious pain. It petered off into a faint whimper, leaving behind a forlorn emptiness.

Snape cracked into the scene, Apparating directly in front of the warped mausoleum. He waved his wand dismissively, causing the rain to disperse to either side of him in depressing sheets. To the uneducated Muggle, it would appear as if the elements feared dampening the foreboding wizard.

Tightening the reins on his mind, Snape tread up the overgrown cobblestone walkway to the black, burned door. Evidence of wayward curses striped the wood. It clicked open before he reached it, swinging forward soundlessly. Snape had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. He hated unnecessary theatrics. After he entered, the door retreated shut, returning to its subservient position. The narrow hallway was not unlike the one at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, though Snape noted the absence of any severed House-Elf heads. The Dark Lord's most recent retreat was perfect: a surface-level snake hole made of damp wood and dirty stone.

Snape stiffened, a familiar weight sliding over his feet. He peered disdainfully down at Nagini who slithered gracefully to the end of the corridor, veering left through an unseen doorway.

"Ah, my servant has returned," a cold voice intoned, echoing quietly through the house yet somehow impossibly filing it. "Come, Severus."

Solidifying his mental bastions one final time, Snape made his way silently into the adjoining room. His breath caught at the sight laid out before him.

Voldemort faced a cavernous fireplace that was spitting blue and green flames, his sickly white skin reflecting the colors in a disturbing and ghastly illusion. Sprawled about on dilapidated chairs and grimy couches were black cloaked Death Eaters. Wild grins lit up their evil faces, disgusting satisfaction permeating the atmosphere. Usually, Voldemort preferred to be alone with the quiet decay, but tonight he clearly wanted an audience. Bellatrix Lestrange sauntered out of the shadows, clearly reveling in the filth and defilement. In the center of the room, Hermione Granger hung from the ceiling, strung up by her wrists. Instead of manacles, flaming ropes encircled her wrists, holding her in place. Her skin was ashen and caked with blood, crimson rivulets running down her arms in excess like macabre birthday streamers.

"Come to see our new pet, Snape?" Bellatrix sang out. "She's been so delightful! Rather lights up the room, doesn't she?" Walking over to Granger, she slid her hands almost lovingly over the girl's cheekbone. A small cut opened in the wake of Bellatrix's fingernail. Granger didn't move, momentarily dead to the world.

"I think we tired her out," Bellatrix pouted. "It's a shame you didn't come sooner. Her shrieking is absolute music, positively top. And you should really see her _writhe_! Such a jolly dance. You'd think _she_ was the one having all the fun!"

The surrounding Death Eaters sniggered dumbly. One of them twitched his wand and Granger's legs started doing a sloppy jig. They doubled over anew, shaking in mirth.

"Enough," Voldemort said.

The room stilled but for Granger's legs. Bellatrix jerked her wand and the unfunny dance ceased, leaving the broken body swaying gently.

The Dark Lord finally turned his red, slitted eyes to Snape who was lingering in the doorway. "Do step in, Severus. It's bad manners to brood in the corner." Snape did as he was told, circling near the wall in an effort to avoid Bellatrix. The ridiculous woman looked even more mad than usual, the stench of torture hanging about her person. She wore it like an erotic perfume, reveling in the lasciviousness. If the woman could mate with the darkness, she wouldn't hesitate.

Snape came to a stop near the fireplace. "My Lord," he murmured inclining his head until curtains of hair slipped over his face. Voldemort nodded almost absentmindedly, his gaze now transfixed on Granger. "Wasteful," he whispered, and Snape was sure the comment hadn't been for anyone but the Dark Lord himself. He seemed speculative, considering something left unsaid.

"What brings you from your post, Severus? As I remember, I instructed you to remain at Hogwarts unless you were called." Voldemort swiveled in place, daring Snape to contradict him.

"Of course, my Lord," Snaped acquiesced. "I confess, I found that your most recent acquisition intrigued me greatly. I wished to see the high and mighty Mudblood finally and properly…vilified." He allowed the shadow of a hungry smirk to tug at his mouth, making sure to inconspicuously shine it in Bellatrix's direction. She snatched instantly at the bait, widening her eyes conspiratorially.

"Ooh, Snape!" she crowed. "What's that gleam in your eye, then? No! Surely you don't…desi-ire the filthy Mudblood?" She drew out the word, scandalously caressing it with her tongue. "She's just a wee bitty baby!"

Snape tried to appear as reticent as possible, yet somewhat unabashed. He couldn't seem too eager or distant.

Voldemort's lids were shut so narrowly his eyes were almost invisible save for twin glowing crevices. "Leave," he commanded, and there was no question as to whom he was speaking.

The cloaked rabble exited speedily, thumping down the hallway and out the front door. Only Bellatrix remained with the two wizards, so lost in her glee that she'd dared to ignore Voldemort. She stared at Snape, mouthing disbelievingly and fluttering her fingers ecstatically.

"Bellatrix." Menaced wrapped around Voldemort's slight utterance, morphing her name into a profanity. She looked properly terrified as her shoulders drew in and her chin dropped. Gathering her skirts, Bellatrix dashed from the room as if one more second would set her afire. Judging from Voldemort's demeanor, it undoubtedly would have.

Silence engulfed the men, curling through their heavy garments. Granger swung almost imperceptivity, the momentum from her ghastly spasms almost depleted.

Snape bowed his head, waiting to be addressed. This was the moment. He hadn't guessed it would arrive so swiftly, but there he was. Next would come the assault, then vindication or execution.

The Dark Lord drifted to the girl, gazing at her lifelessness. "Does it not seem a shame, to you, Severus?"

Snape looked up, confused by the line of questioning. "Does what, my Lord?"

Voldemort continued to stare unblinkingly. "This creature, so full of willpower and magic. She is tainted by Muggle stink, and yet there is such potential. I almost regret having to destroy her. But there is no place for the innately damned in the new world."

Snape stood motionless, throwing up a last minute wall around his already impenetrable mind. He allowed minute traces of lust and victory to seep out and form a moat around his mental castle.

"Would you have her, Severus?"

"My Lord?"

Voldemort glanced at him. "Do not act the fool, Severus," he said sharply. "Answer."

Snape, shifted his weight and squared his shoulders. "I would. Yes."

"Why?" The question slithered to him and coiled around his neck, a verbal, serpentine noose.

It was then that he felt an immense pressure like a vice clamping over his head. His response would be accompanied by whatever memories Voldemort could excavate from his brain.

Snape opened his mouth but was instantly transported to the memory that Voldemort had just pounced upon.

_"Professor, stop!"_

_Hermione skittered out of his reach, fear and want playing across her eyes as she anticipated his next move. _

_"Filthy child." Snape heard himself say the words in his head though he knew he'd never say such drivel aloud. "I know exactly what a slut like you requires."_

_"Professor!" Hermione was breathless, but now excitement prevailed as her dominant emotion. She reached out and touched him…there…_

_His vision shifted and he saw her start to change. Her eyes transformed, blazing with green. Fire shot down her hair, fizzling from root to tip in an angry wave, leaving behind a burnished waterfall of red locks. _

_Snape watched the memory zoom out from their private scene to reveal his Potions classroom. He saw himself brooding over his desk, eyes targeting a busy Granger as she slaved over her simmering cauldron. _

_A fantasy, nothing more. _

"Ah." Snape jerked up as he felt Voldemort retreat from his mind. He looked away in contempt for himself but what he hoped came across as mild embarrassment. "She reminds you of the Potter girl," Voldemort said, nodding in understanding. "I'd hoped that you'd been broken of that addiction long ago, Severus."

Snape, already sick of the charade, swallowed his pride and allowed a sliver of truth to escape his lips. "She was the only woman I ever truly wanted."

"Yes, yes, such pointless attraction," Voldemort scoffed. He suddenly looked bored. "Take her, if you want. She's useless to me now."

_Unbelievable_, Snape thought. It was working. "My Lord?" He asked tentatively, trying to allow faint excitement to break through his words.

"She was never valuable, anyway. Perhaps as a bargaining chip, but no one seems to know where Potter is." His face grew dark and sinister, obviously enraged at being outsmarted by a mere boy. "Her mind broke almost immediately. After a day of the Cruciatus, everything in her head went deathly still. She hasn't said anything coherent since, only waking long enough to dull my ears with her screeching. Do me a service and remove her." Voldemort ceased speaking, returning to the fireplace and resuming his observance of the flames.

Snape, barely daring to believe he hadn't already been struck down and was simply dreaming his escape, moved toward Granger. He raised his wand to her wrists and the scorching bands dissipated. Her arms fell, but he kept her body suspended in front of him. He spared Voldemort one final, fleeting glance, murmuring his gratitude and striding to the door as fast as he could without attracting any last ire.

"Severus."

Snape froze, as did the girl, her body floating just outside the doorway. "My Lord?"

Voldemort twisted, solemnly regarding him. "I shan't forget this weakness."

"No, my Lord."

Outside the ramshackle house, Snape fixed his eyes on the horizon, ignoring the gawping stares from the moronic Death Eaters along with the battering rain. He didn't bother to part the drops as he withdrew. Bellatrix he surveyed from the corner of his eye, and he noted with deep satisfaction that her eyes were wild with resentment. He marched to the edge of the area's protective enchantments, waved them away, and pushed Granger through. He allowed the girl to float sideways into his arms, clutching her to his chest protectively. Without another thought, he spun on the spot and vanished.


End file.
